hair of the dog that followed you home
by metaphorically-blue
Summary: Spot/Race, College!AU!verse. Five times Race kinda sorta lost to Spot Conlon, and the one time he didn't. "After that, Race walks to the bus stop, climbs on, and thinks about odds. He misses his stop."


Spot/Race, companion to _my body_ and _infinite possibilities_ that people were requesting but takes place chronologically before them. It also has what's probably the highest rating of the three due to resolving the unresolved sexual tension (which is still a fairly moderate T). The idea of Spot leaving hickeys can probably be attributed to _Everything You've Done Wrong_ by Sloanne, but the rest is all me, baby. Especially the Ultimate Frisbee playing, because yay Frisbee!

As always, read, review in a constructively critical manner, and love.

* * *

hair of the dog (that followed you home)

_-or, _

_five times Race sort of lost_

_(and the one time he didn't)-_

_

* * *

_

1.

If Tony had his way, he never would've become the "coordinator" for Ultimate. See, it works like this: Tony loves Ultimate, but isn't very good; Tony has a job he has to get to an hour after most matches end; Tony has to catch a ridiculous bus to get to said job; Tony is not Jack Kelly, and thus not the _leader_ of the _team_. Therefore, Tony should not be the one to have to go find Sean Conlon in the locker rooms after games and do schedules, because Tony has a life.

But then Jack had off-handedly said, "You'll do it, right, Race?" as he was mooning after David (and he is ridiculously obvious, girlfriend be damned, and someday Race'll win a shitload of money thanks to him) and Race was stuck.

(Granted, if Tony had his way, he also wouldn't be called Racetrack, but c'est la diem, or whatever the hell it is.)

So Race had to go find the locker rooms by the small gym – he was already in a bad mood, plus they'd lost the first game of the season, and working the evening shift at Tibby's was seriously a Bad Idea – and by the end of getting lost for about ten minutes, he was not excited to see anyone, let alone Spot Conlon. And of course, he's going to go see Spot Conlon, former suitemate circa first semester freshman year, boy who's wanted to beat Race at poker, bets, anything ever since he lost a hundred because Race is the better cheat, because that is just how much Race's life sucks.

When he pushes open the locker room door, however, he isn't expecting to see Spot, shirt off, tossing a disc between his hands, and wow, this is awkward. So he sort of stands there in the door, holding his phone in one hand, fiddling with his shirt, and when Spot looks up at him, he can't think of anything to say.

Spot goes first: "Next Friday, 5:30."

Race nods. Then, after the silence is a little too long: "Brooklyn's really shaped up." He doesn't say _since I transferred out_ because honestly, like Spot's even going to associate Tony, the kid who went to stay with his cousin Crutchy when he broke his leg freshman year, with Racetrack, the asshole who keeps Jack Kelly in line and won a hundred dollars off of Spot Conlon in one hand.

He figures he's done his conversational dues, even if he'll have to sit at the bus stop for twenty minutes, and turns to the door. It's then that Spot's voice floats out to stop him from leaving.

"Brooklyn could've used you, you know."

Race almost turns, almost answers, but instead he bites his lip a little and doesn't say something like _how do you even remember that_ or _well I'm Manhattan, you asshole_ and just sort of walks out the door, pretty sure that somehow, he just lost.

2.

The second game, Manhattan is skins, and Race is flushed with heat and sweat and victory when he makes it to the locker rooms five minutes faster. Spot is waiting there, his shirt sticking to his skin, outlining muscles that shouldn't even be possible on someone like that skinny shrimp (not that Race can talk, considering he can barely break 5'8", but still). Race clutches his disc like a lifeline as he enters the locker room, coming in just a little bit closer, a little bit further in.

"Friday, 5:30." Nod.

Race turns to leave, but Spot is somehow next to him, tossing his disc onto the desk all the coaches use for sign in forms and time logs. Right about now, Race remembers that oh yeah, they were skins today, and he still hasn't changed for work, and really, how did Spot get that toned?

"Tell Jack that you played a good game." Spot isn't looking at him, his eyes focused on some point on the desk, and Race wonders if Spot can hear him swallowing. Finally he chokes out a _yeah, okay_ and honestly, he's going to leave any minute now. In fact, he's going to walk towards that door again, starting right –

He's got to be imagining things, because there's no way that Spot's fingers are running down his arm, no way that Spot's hand is brushing against his wrist and just barely circling around it and holding on. Even if he can feel Spot's body heat on his arm, can hear him breathing, slow and deep.

Then Spot lets go and smiles at him, a big, cocky grin with the teeth flashing and the arrogance practically blinding Race, who still tries to hold eye contact because he is not going to back down from Spot Conlon. Eventually, when enough time has passed and the clock gives him fifteen minutes, Race picks up his feet and walks out the door, all the way to the bus station, where he pulls on his work shirt before sitting down and rubbing his wrist.

3.

Brooklyn won, and Race has the crap shift at Tibby's again, and he even shows up to the locker rooms as fast as he can just so he can get through work and go back to the dorm and sleep, but somehow Spot still gets there first.

(Last week, Race ran into Spot five times. Last week, Race almost asked Spot to _explain yourself, you can't just grab my wrist like that I mean seriously what the hell_ before he stopped himself five times. He settled for glaring five times.)

"Hey," he says, a little breathless from getting there, and he even goes in to where the benches sit between the rows of lockers, where Spot's shirt is sitting on the floor and where Spot's shoes are left lying by a post and where Spot is sort of staring at him, a little. (He wonders why Spot's staring. Then he wonders why he doesn't seem to mind that Spot's staring. Then he gets off that train and decides to go back to the part where there's a shirtless Spot Conlon right in front of him.)

He keeps trying to catch his breath, and Spot is still staring, even as he says _Friday 5:30, right_ and Spot nods and seriously, why is he getting closer, this is a little weird and that's his personal space right there that Spot's violating and –

Spot kisses him.

It isn't a hard kiss, or a deep one, or anything – just a swipe of lip over lip, a moment where Spot's mouth passes over Race's. All Race does is stand there, a little in shock and a little wanting more (and _seriously_, Spot does not need to know that last bit because his ego will explode and since when has he wanted Spot Conlon anyways?).

When Spot steps back, his grin is back in place, as arrogant as ever, and Race kind of wants to punch him out of sheer frustration when he says, "See you next game."

Race walks to the bus stop, barely making it in time to climb over the steps to the closest seat, and thinks about odds – the odds of Manhattan losing the next game, the odds that he's going to be early to work, the odds that Spot's going to kiss him again, the odds of him kissing back. He misses his stop.

4.

Somehow – he's going to blame David for this one, because that kid never sleeps and thus gets sicker than everyone else in the dorm and if it weren't for the fact that Jack Kelly is in love with him and wants to take care of him and all that romantic shit they would've sent him to a hospital by now – Race got sick enough to miss the next game.

He's there for the next match, of course, feeling a little better while he stretches in the afternoon sun, when oh look, there's Spot. And with Spot comes his memory, which had previously vacated his brain while he was halfway to high on painkillers and cough drops, of the fact that Spot kissed him.

Race is off his game the whole match. Even David starts looking at him oddly, and David can't even notice that his roommate wants to stick his tongue down his throat while living with the guy. When asked, Race laughs it off as still being a little sick, and is surprised by how relieved he is when David just nods and walks away.

So yeah, Race is nervous when he shows up to the locker room meeting, because what is he supposed to say – _you kissed me, what the hell, why_ or _since when were you gay_ or _in a locker room? really?_ – and Spot is standing there, looking almost uncertain. Almost.

Of course, the first thing out of Race's mouth is, "I wasn't avoiding you, or – I _was_ sick, and– and I mean, I had no clue you went that way, but I liked it, really – but seriously, what the _fuck_. If you're going to make out with someone, you should probably actually tell them something instead of just going ahead and doing it because hey, normal people give a little warning –"

Race is aware of two things. One is that the locks on the lockers are incredibly hard, especially when they're pressing into his lower back until he thinks the numbers are imprinted on his spine. Second is that Spot is kissing him (again).

It isn't tentative or romantic; he thinks his lips are bruising even as his hands seem to automatically clutch at Spot's shoulder blades. Since he was caught in mid-sentence, his words have turned into accidental tongue, and Spot has decided to reciprocate while he pushes Race down into the metal and they slide towards the floor. Race's shirt is clinging to him, and a small part of his brain is pleasantly aware that Brooklyn was skins this game, but a larger part is focusing on how _good_ it all feels.

A few minutes later, they break apart, Race still sitting on the floor while Spot stands and starts to smirk (and seriously, next time he is getting punched in the eye even if they are very blue). Race twists to look at the clock, sees the time, and jolts upwards – he's going to be late because of Spot, again, and Spot knows it, so he flips Spot off and runs out the door, cursing all the way to the bus stop.

5.

Manhattan finally wins again, Mush scoring the crucial goal, and Race feels almost like bouncing when he arrives at the locker room, work shirt and disc in hand.

Spot is standing there, in the middle of changing, watching Race walk around to stand in front of the desk. Race is pretty sure that even as he says the next game time (not that they ever paid much attention, but still) Spot isn't listening, isn't paying attention at all, because all he does is move towards him and tug away his t-shirt, causing Race to accidentally drop his disc in the process. At some point, Race is aware that he's just talking about nothing, stalling with old poker games and a hundred dollars, but it doesn't matter because it isn't like Spot is listening, is it –

And then he's somehow sitting on the desk, sliding against papers and a stapler. Spot is so close to him, hands moving from where they'd lifted Race up to land on hipbones and wrists, and he doesn't even go for the mouth, but instead rests his lips on Race's neck.

It catches him by surprise, the bruise, and he punches Spot in the arm involuntarily, but Spot has moved on by then, down his shoulder, sucking on his skin hard enough to make Race gasp. Spot just continues – Race can practically feel the smug grin – and the next one makes Race turn his face into Spot's neck because he is not going to moan. Not even paying attention, Spot just places his hands on either side of Race's face and shifts him over to reach the other shoulder, and this time Race's resolution fails and he's totally losing to Spot all over again but he can't stop himself when the muffled noise escapes.

Spot notices this, pulling away and smiling (and it's almost a little genuine) at Race while he tries to school himself into some form of calmness (he's good at poker, why can't he keep a straight face?) and even out his breathing. In response to this new reaction, Spot returns to his handiwork, pressing at the hickeys he's left all over Race's skin with tongue and teeth and – at some point, Race will have to come up with some reason to explain how he got them without a girlfriend, but currently his mind is on other, more pressing matters, such as Spot Conlon's mouth. Eventually he just gives up on staying under control, content to let his ragged breath and mumbled curses hit Spot's neck and close his eyes and feel.

When he has eight minutes to reach the bus stop, Spot finally starts kissing him on the mouth, barely giving a perfunctory brush before probing at Race's mouth until his lips allow Spot's tongue in. Race rests his hands on Spot's neck, feeling his pulse under his fingertips and running his thumb up and down Spot's spine, eventually closing his lips and forcing Spot to withdraw. For a while they stay like that, looped around each other, Race feeling Spot's heartbeat under his hands.

Race is incredibly late for work.

0.

It was a simple deception, really. A text at the right time – _need essay help, meet dorm room_ – and there was Spot Conlon, standing in front of his room, looking out of place and a little confused.

Crutchy went to the movies with Mush and Blink; Jack's off working; David is staying up until four working on the newspaper and won't leave his desk for anything short of a nuclear holocaust which has already been featured on page 2. No one but Race is there.

He lets Spot in with a grin, pulling open the door as Spot awkwardly steps through, looking uncomfortable in his rival dorm and ready to run. This means that he doesn't expect it when Race presses him back up against said door, one hand restraining a wrist and the other pulling down at Spot's collar.

At first, there is surprise, a little gasp of indignation. But then, when he presses his lips harder and begins to explore the tiny gap of a shocked Spot's mouth, Spot relaxes, settling a hand on Race's back. Even when he thumbs a hickey from the last game, Race isn't too bothered. After all, he won for once.


End file.
